


Somewhat Akin to a Limpet

by Skew



Category: Blackadder
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skew/pseuds/Skew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edmund Blackadder never really wanted to be Percy's friend, but trying to persuade Percy of this turned out to be far more difficult than he'd ever anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhat Akin to a Limpet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eledhwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/gifts).



> Plentiful thanks to Lady Telemachus for casting an eye over the draft and helping point me in the right direction.

My problem with Percy Percy began on my very first day of university.

I had not been greatly enamoured of the idea to begin with. Schooling, in general, was not something that agreed with me: as a child, I drove a succession of governesses mad with my point-blank refusal to work, whereas my grammar school years were largely occupied with engraving obscene images into my desk. (I am told that the one with the donkey is fondly regarded to this day.)

When I turned 14, it was an inevitability that my education would continue at one of England's great palaces of academe, ie. either Oxford or Cambridge, but at the time I could only presume this meant more of the same but in bigger rooms.

On arrival, I was less than impressed with my lodgings. The college was founded in the 13th century, and going by the look of the buildings, had not been refurbished since. The room I'd been given had all the warmth and charm of an iron maiden: it was a bleak, boxy sort of affair, containing a bed, two chairs, and a rather lively family of silverfish.

Unimpressed though I was, having a room of my own was still a step up from grammar school. With a few minor adjustments – say, varnishing the floorboards, giving the walls a fresh lick of paint, buying some new furniture, and then moving to somewhere else entirely – I was sure it could become a home from home.

However, even the greatest of plans have small beginnings, and so I started by unpacking my trunk. Or, rather, watching Baldrick unpack the trunk while I considered the question of where to put Baldrick himself. The trunk itself would probably do if I was feeling generous. (And if I didn't, the gutter was always a reliable standby.) As for feeding him, I decided to kill two birds with one stone and have him deal with the silverfish problem. I'd been there five minutes and already solved two problems, and as such, I was feeling rather proud of myself. If every challenge I faced at university was so simple, I'd have no problems at all.

Of course, fortune could not allow me to feel satisfied for long. I was roused from my thoughts by a sharp rapping on the door.

"Ah," I said, "The welcoming party must have arrived. Get the door, Baldrick."

"Yessir," said Baldrick, but he had not made more than two steps across the room when the door was rudely shoved open. On the other side stood a boy my own age: a tall, gangling individual who appeared to be almost entirely constructed of elbows and neck.

"Hello!" he said. My heart sunk.

I have never taken well to the naturally cheerful; I'm inclined to be suspicious of what they have to be so damned cheerful about.

"Can I come in?" said the boy, and without waiting for an answer, did that very thing. I watched as he lolloped across the room and plunked himself down onto the bed, my feeling of contempt superseded only by growing sense of dread.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He seemed to almost telescope upwards as he straightened his posture and announced,

"Percy Percy, heir to the Duchy of Northumberland. And your new neighbour!" This was a revelation as welcome as smallpox. I swiftly deployed the scowl I generally reserve for maiden aunts and members of the clergy, but if Percy noticed it he chose to ignore it. "So then, neighbour, who might you be?"

"The Queen of Spain," I said, flatly. Percy's forehead creased and his mouth slowly opened and closed, and I had a nasty feeling that he was on the verge of saying that I looked much younger in the portraits. I hastily clarified things for him.

"I'm Edmund Blackadder."

If I'd known the effect it'd have on him, I'd have kept saying I was the Queen of Spain. Percy bounced on the bed and, Lord help me, clapped his hands together with glee.

"_The_ Edmund Blackadder?" he said.

"Well, certainly _a_ Edmund Blackadder," I replied. There was, after all, a long and ill-starred string of Edmund Blackadders that preceded me. "You've heard of the family, I take it?"

Percy nodded so hard it made his hair wobble.

"_Everybody_ knows about the Blackadders."

Well, that was accurate, even if it was rare that it produced such excitement. Usually the mention of the family name led to, at best, icy looks, and at worst, the arrival of angry mobs bearing pitchforks and buckets of dung. I was born into a long line of cads, cheats and frothing lunatics; at the time I met Percy, our family's greatest claim to notability was the highest incidence of syphilitic madness of all the noble houses of Europe.

Percy was gazing around the room, apparently enchanted, though his smile faded when he set eyes on Baldrick.

"I didn't know we were allowed to have pets here," he said.

"That's not a pet, it's Baldrick," I said. "Say hello, Baldrick."

"Hello Baldrick," said Baldrick. I rolled my eyes.

"Look, Baldrick, why don't you go outside and chase rabbits, or whatever it is you do when not hovering around me like a stale fart?" I suggested.

"Yessir," Baldrick said, and made a prompt exit. Much as I detested Percy already, I really didn't want the presence of Baldrick to make a bad impression. Percy watched him go, with a distinct look of concern.

"What _is_ he?" he said, turning back to me. A good question. I pondered it at some length.

"He's Baldrick," I said at last. There really is no other way to define him. "He's my manservant – well, boyservant, to be pedantic."

"But he's horrible!"

"I know."

"Can't you do something about him?"

"Not really, no," I said, with a sigh. "Baldricks are... something of a family curse, you might say. Baldrick's father serves my father, Baldrick's grandfather served my grandfather, and so on back to the days of the Plantagenets. When I produce an heir, and Baldrick contrives by whatever unholy methods it is that Baldricks reproduce to spawn another, then my son will be damned to be followed through all his days by yet another little Baldrick. It's just the way things have always been."

"Ah," Percy said, looking faintly nauseous. There was a pause, and then that inane smile of his returned. "This is so exciting! We'll probably be in all the same classes, and even if we're not, we'll be right next to each other so we can see each other whenever we like!"

"Oh, joy," I said, and would have said more had Percy not bounded towards me and, before I could resist, enveloped me in a hug. I had not been hugged since the age of nine, and the last person who tried now wore a prosthetic nose. When I was finally released, Percy looked so happy he was in danger of bursting something. Sadly, no such luck.

"Oh, Edmund, we shall be the dearest of friends!" he said.

I could do nothing but sigh. Once again, Fate conspired to defecate in my laundry.

* * *

Percy, it was clear, was somewhat akin to a limpet: pointy, wet, and utterly impossible to prise away from something he had decided to affix himself to. After that first, startling meeting, I resolved to avoid him at all costs, but every time I left my room, he would somehow _appear_ and attach himself to me, and there was not a thing I could do.

At first, I decided to simply ignore him. A task easier said than done when he followed me everywhere and never shut up. It was enough to make me feel almost wistful about Baldrick, who at least was usually reasonably quiet and buggered off when told.

Lectures offered a brief respite, as Percy had manners enough to keep silent during those, but outside of lesson time he was always by my side, ceaselessly chattering away. My patience wore ever thinner – how, after all, would I have a hope of making real friends with him always bumbling around me like he was a wasp and I a particularly delicious jar of jam?

I thus moved on to devising plans to buy me a few hours of precious freedom. They didn't need to be very sophisticated, as Percy was very easily fooled. All I needed to do was point over his shoulder and yell something like,

"Look, it's Anne of Cleves!" and then run while he looked for her.

After a few days, though, I grew tired of running, especially since no matter where I ran to, Percy always seemed to know exactly where to find me. Merely distracting him was not enough. To properly remove him, I would have to be downright unpleasant. Luckily, this was a task at which I excelled.

For the next fortnight I embarked on a plan of out-and-out vileness, wasting no opportunity to berate, abuse and humiliate Percy. I pushed him into wayside middens. I paid street urchins to kick him in the shins. I used his head as target practice, starting off with apple cores and working my way up to horseshoes. I even had an ornately crafted sign placed upon my door that read 'No Percies Allowed'. The result, though, was always the same: he would give me a sad look, lower lip quivering, and then after a moment or two his brain would apparently reset itself to its default setting of mindless hysteria. It was as if he lacked whichever organs produced resentment and bitterness. To that end, I even consulted a medical textbook and began surreptitiously sticking leeches to the back of his neck, but his demeanour remained unchanged.

After one full month of enduring Percy's almost constant company, it was clear to me that getting rid of Percy would require every ounce of weasel cunning I possessed. In a way, I thought I might rather enjoy the challenge.

* * *

My first real window of opportunity opened during our second month of term.

I was lying upon my bed, trying and failing to work my way through a volume of Ovid, when Percy came bouncing into the room looking even more inhumanly chipper than usual. I glanced at him, and turned away, feigning interest in my book.

"Edmund!" he said, hopping from foot to foot.

"What?" I said.

"Guess!" he said. I looked him up and down. He was positively vibrating with excitement.

"New haircut?" I said.

"Even better!" Percy said. "I've got a girlfriend!"

I dropped the book in surprise. Now, at that time neither of us were the greatest of physical specimens, as no 14-year-old is, but I had presumed that of us both, I would be the first to make a mark on the fairer sex. After all, I had the advantages of wit, charm, better dress sense, and not being a complete twerp. Frankly, I didn't know how he had even found the time to woo a girl when he seemed to spend all his time bothering me.

"_You_ have a girlfriend," I said, slowly. Percy nodded. I kept my expression carefully neutral, not wishing to betray any sense of jealousy.

"You do know slapping a maid's arse in the corridors doesn't make her your girlfriend, don't you?" I said.

"Edmund!" Percy said. "She's a perfectly respectable young lady."

"And she's dating you?" I said. "Who is she?"

I was genuinely curious. There were no female students or tutors; the only women within the colleges were servants, and few young women of noble birth would deign to go anywhere near such a den of sweaty-palmed, lust-crazed adolescents had they even been allowed to.

"Her name's Katherine," Percy simpered.

"Katherine who?" I said. Every other woman I knew seemed to be called Katherine.

"Katherine Slattery," Percy said. That name sounded faintly familiar. As if I'd seen it on a sign somewhere... I made the connection.

"As in Slattery, the fishmonger?" I said. "You're dating a fishmonger's daughter?"

Percy seemed undaunted. "Yes, and we're very happy, thank you."

"Do your parents know you're dallying with a member of the lower orders?" I asked. Percy shuffled his feet.

"They don't need to know," he said, and clasped his hands to his chest. "Ours is a forbidden love! Our passion for one another transcends the bounds of mere social class."

"That's all very well, but does she have nice tits?" I said, one eyebrow raised.

"Fantastic," Percy said solemnly.

An idea began to form. I smiled a slow, seraphic smile.

"You know, Percy, I'd quite like to meet her..."

* * *

It was perfect. Seducing Percy's girlfriend would amply demonstrate that we were Not Friends, and I'd get some into the bargain. Even better, I didn't have to wait long for my window of opportunity to arise.

Several days after Percy had sown the seeds of his own come-uppance, word got round at dinner that somebody in the college was planning a small, informal gathering; many of our fellow students being the sort of chaps who stood to inherit titles and counties and, in at least one case, a significant chunk of central Europe, 'a small, informal gathering' was likely to mean hundreds of guests and enough alcohol to float an armada. This was handy, as otherwise I doubt Percy or I would have been invited.

That night, as I stood awkwardly wedged between the future Earl of Sussex and a number of interchangeable Ruritanians, I saw Percy hove into view. He was always easy to spot because he stood a full head above everyone else, and was usually wearing something hideous. Tonight, he was clad in a doublet of an unflattering shade of cat-sick yellow, smiling wide enough that it threatened to split his face in half, and, as promised, accompanied by a girl.

"Edmund!" he called to me, barrelling his way through the crowds. "I'd like you to meet Katherine."

Katherine, it turned out, was a dumpy little creature with a face like a sheep. I should have expected no better from the sort of girl dim enough to say yes to Percy. Disappointed though I was, she was alive, and roughly woman-shaped, so I decided to press on with my plan.

"Katherine, this is my dear friend Edmund Blackadder," he said.

"It's a pleasure," I said, kissing her clammy, mackerel-scented hand. Katherine giggled a little at the attention.

The moment Percy turned his back to talk to someone else, I moved in for the kill. I smoothed back my hair, affected a predatory smile, and broke out the line I was sure would make her veritable putty in my hands.

"So – how about it?"

Katherine looked at me. She looked at Percy, who gave her an effete little wave. She looked back at me again.

"Yeah, alright," she said.

Taking her by the hand, I elbowed my way through the crowd and led her downstairs and out of the back entrance, to a secluded little corner of the college's ancient cloisters. We sat down together, looking out upon the courtyard. It was a charming setting; a place where no doubt many young men had wooed blushing damsels, whispering sweet nothings into their ears and holding hands in the darkness.

As for me, I just dived in and stuck my tongue down her throat.

I can't deny I was a little disappointed. Snogging had come to me highly recommended, but the chief sensation I got from Katherine was a memory of the last time I had lampreys for dinner. Actually enjoying it wasn't the point, though. I was kissing a real, live, actual girl, and Percy was going to be _really annoyed_.

Buoyed by my own success, I took things up a notch, moving my hands round to her back to attempt to loosen her bodice. This was rather hindered by the fact I hadn't got a clue about how bodices were actually fastened, and didn't know where to begin; while I clawed up and down her back with increasing frustration, I tried to keep her distracted by slobbering my way down her neck, pondering the merits of burying my face in her cleavage instead.

I heard her make a little gasp, and grinned.

"Like that, do you, you saucy wench?" I said, under the impression that this was the sort of thing lower-class women liked to hear.

She just made a strangled noise and pushed me away, just in time for me to see Percy standing over us both. He had chosen this very moment to use his unsettling ability to materialise from thin air and now stood gawping, his gaze alternating between the two of us, apparently undecided as to who to be protective of. Eventually, he moved to Katherine's side.

"Was he molesting you?" he said. "Are you hurt?"

Katherine snorted.

"Oh, sod off, Percy," she said, and stormed away. My esteem of her doubled. Percy gave me a mournful look.

"What were you two doing?" he said, and tentatively ventured, "Had she, maybe, had a fit of hysterics, necessitating mouth-to-mouth and the loosening of her clothing?"

I sighed.

"No, Percy, we were snogging," I said, and as he failed to comprehend, elaborated, "Playing tonsil hockey. Dancing the labial two-step. _Getting some_." I slapped my right palm onto my left bicep and punched upwards, just in case Percy understood mime better than description.

He frowned. "But she was my girlfriend."

"I know. That was the whole point."

Percy thought about it. It didn't suit him. I could almost see his tiny mind working away as it tried to fit the facts into his delusional worldview.

"Well... well, she must have been an awful harlot to simply go off with the first fellow to try his luck, and clearly you were just performing a test to see if she was worthy of me," he said, sounding as if not even he believed this risible story. But, sure enough, that bloody grin of his appeared as the thought settled into place. "Oh, Edmund, thank you! Who knows how I might have suffered if I'd persisted with that damnable shrew!"

He hugged me. I endured it with gritted teeth. It was clear now that I was facing a problem thornier than a particularly thorny thorn bush. Drastic measures were required.

* * *

"What am I going to do, Baldrick?" I said, pacing back and forth across the room. "At every turn I am defied!"

"You could stop washing, my lord," Baldrick said. "I don't wash, and nobody follows me around."

I considered it. It might work, but the stench of Baldrick was hard enough to endure without adding to it, and anyway, I had always been rather meticulous about hygiene. There were many among my peers who thought me a sissy for bathing as often as four times a year, but I'd long believed it didn't pay to skimp on these things.

"Baldrick," I said, "I would sooner smear my scrotum with pate and bare myself to the mercy of a troupe of ravenous ferrets than imitate you. Try again."

He thought harder, munching on a silverfish.

"I know!" he said, face lighting up, "You could kill him."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I can't kill him."

"You could, my lord," Baldrick said. "All you'd need is a big spade, and then when he's not looking – bang!"

"No," I said, "I don't mean I can't _physically_ kill him, I mean I couldn't _bring myself_ to kill him. Not out of concern for his welfare, you understand – if I thought I could get away with it, I'd have cracked that big egg of a head open weeks ago – but because I would undoubtedly be found out, arrested and executed, and I have no wish to give my family the satisfaction of knowing their predictions about my future were right."

"You could get someone else to kill him," Baldrick said. "I'd do it!"

It was tempting, undoubtedly tempting, but all things considered, it seemed a little crass. There had to be a better way, and all this talk of death had given me a certain notion.

"Baldrick," I said, "I have a cunning plan..."

* * *

I had a plan so cunning it would make the Spanish Inquisition look like a collection of bad-tempered men in frocks. I was going to fake my own death.

I should point out that I wasn't going so far as to leave university. Maybe transfer to a new college, take an alias, even grow a moustache once my face obliged in producing something more than unsightly fluff. There was no doubt in my mind that that would be enough to have Percy bamboozled for good.

Nevertheless, for this to work, it was of vital importance to make it suitably horrific. Something to appeal to Percy's dramatic side. It also had to be something I could pull off in a manner that was convincing, but safe – hanging, for example, was out of the question. After some thought, I had the perfect scenario. It'd be messy, but I could endure that if it would persuade Percy to finally and conclusively piss off.

I ordered Baldrick first to buy a pound of offal and a bucket of pig's blood, and secondly to deliver a note to Percy. The first accomplished, he went off to do the second while I set up the scene.

I didn't have to wait long for Percy to come dashing in, almost incoherent with grief. When he saw me, he screamed. It took all my willpower not to smile, but somehow, I managed it.

I was lying contorted upon the bed, a dagger buried in my guts; or, in actual fact, embedded in the folds of my clothing in the time-honoured method loved by ham actors everywhere. Gore spilled out from the 'wound' and soaked the sheets. My face was a mask of pure agony, my eyes rolled back in my head as far as I could get them.

"Edmund!" Percy wailed. I heard a thud as he dropped to his knees beside me. "Oh, my lord, why? Taken from us so young!" I heard a sound which I suspected was him wiping his nose on his sleeve. "What could bring you to do such a thing?"

"Well, he told me he was doing it to get rid of you," I heard Baldrick say. Damn the infernal little dungball, he was going to ruin everything, and I couldn't even cough, let alone give him the kick up the arse he rightfully deserved.

"What?" said Percy, weakly. "He killed himself because of... me?"

I relaxed again, inwardly if not outwardly.

"Nah, he's not really killed himself. He's just pretending to be dead because he thinks if you think he's dead, you'll leave him alone."

That tore it. I sat up, rubbing my aching neck.

"Baldrick, you utter bastard," I said, too enraged to even come up with a sophisticated put-down. I satisfied myself with flinging offal in his general direction.

Percy was just staring, stunned. This time it took what felt like an age for his mind to process it into something he could see as positive. For a moment, I thought that at last he had reached his breaking point, and that I had gone far enough to make my point clear. But then he burst out laughing.

"Oh, Edmund, you jester, you!" he said. "My, you must think me an absolute fool!"

"You're right there," I said.

"I must have been such a sight!" he said, punching me on the arm. "What larks!"

And with that he departed, presumably to stitch his sides back together.

That was it. There was nothing I could do. No matter what I did to Percy, he simply wouldn't allow himself to believe that I disliked him. I was powerless in the face of his unnatural optimism. Also, I'd given myself a horrible crick in my neck and was decorated with miscellaneous offcuts. I gave up.

* * *

From then on, I accepted that I was stuck with Percy for the duration. I had lived all my short life with Baldrick traipsing after me, after all, so one more idiot in my wake was no real hardship.

It was at that point, when all hope had been lost, that I had a sudden stroke of luck.

It happened one bleak December evening. That afternoon, we had been subjected to a lengthy and tedious lecture on moral hygiene from such a distinguished personage as the Archdeacon of Bath, a lecture that would have been vastly more effective had he not clearly been a pervert of the highest order. He was a dead cert for a bishopric one day. (As followers of my later escapades will know, in this case my juvenile prediction turned out to be entirely right. Though even I hadn't expected him to take up eating babies.) As such, enduring his rantings had been such an ordeal that afterwards we repaired to the nearest pub for necessary restoratives.

Much as I liked to think of myself as a man of the world, and had of course supped small beer since weaning, I had yet to develop much of a tolerance for ale. Still haven't, actually, though we can gloss over that for now. One beer and I became distinctly wobbly; two and my muscle coordination vanished entirely, along with all considerations of personal dignity. On the upside, the more I drank, the more I found myself able to tolerate Percy. Maybe this, I thought, was the solution – I'd simply never sober up again.

Together, Percy and I did our very best to drink the pub dry. We'd initially intended a couple of pints but ended up downing drink after drink. We played darts. We told unfunny jokes. We sang terrible songs, several of them featuring goblins. And, as the night wore on and I became increasingly inebriated, I began to have ideas.

"You know what we should do?" I said, one arm around Percy's shoulders arm for support, my free hand pointing at nothing in particular.

"What?" said Percy, oblivious as ever.

"We should do something _really naughty_."

Percy grinned. "We could... put a hat on the statue in the marketplace!"

"Yes!" I said. In retrospect, the fact I thought one of Percy's suggestions sounded like a good idea was clear evidence that I was beyond all reason.

"Wait," Percy said, face falling. "We don't have a hat."

"Then we will _steal one_!" I said, slapping my hand on the table.

Percy wagged a finger at me. "Stealing is very bad."

"Exactly!" I said. Percy giggled, putting his hand over his mouth.

"Okay, but who shall we steal it from?" he asked.

Ah, now there was the rub. I mentally drew up a list of candidates. Normally, I'd have just stolen Percy's, but as he'd pointed out, he didn't have a hat to steal. Baldrick was a possibility, but frankly, I didn't wish to touch anything that had been on his head without the aid of thick gloves and a pair of tongs a mile long. The vice-chancellor was a tempting possibility, but I hadn't a clue where he lived. And then, I had a brilliant idea.

"I have a brilliant idea," I said. "It is so brilliant that attempting to comprehend it may cause your brain to collapse."

"Oh, come on, Edmund!" Percy said, bouncing on his seat. "Please tell me!"

"Brace yourself," I said.

"I'm bracing!"

"Are you sure?"

"Nnn!" Percy had clenched every part of himself it was possible to clench. I considered him duly braced.

"We... are going to steal the hat... of... _The Archdeacon of Bath_!"

Percy clapped his hands to his mouth. I grinned.

Moments later, we had left the pub and were flitting through the streets, heading back to our college and to the buildings where visitors were quartered. We stopped outside, leaning against one another, alternating between laughing and making loud, altogether-too-obvious shushing noises.

"Is this it?" Percy said, in a stage whisper loud enough to waken a corpse. I nodded.

"I'm almost sure of it," I said. "Give me a leg up, would you?"

He obliged, and I started to make an ascent of the building, clinging tightly to the ivy that thickly covered the walls and finding footholds in the ancient stone. I inched upwards until, finally, I got a hold of the window ledge and hauled myself up.

I peered inside, and saw a sight that no mortal man should. We had certainly found the Archdeacon of Bath, for at that very moment his vast, radish-like form was heaving away atop a woman of exceedingly easy virtue. I tore my eyes from the grotesque scene, and took advantage of his distraction to sneak in through the window. My habit of dressing only in black paid off, as I was barely visible in the low light, and it was but a moment's work to snatch his hat from the chair where it had been idly tossed, and be up and out of the window without the Archdeacon even breaking his pace.

I scrambled swiftly downwards, the hat clamped tightly under one arm. I was close to making it, but at the last minute, my luck ran out: my foot slipped, and I tumbled the final few feet to the ground, unable to prevent myself from cursing loudly as I hit the flagstones.

That was our undoing. There came an almighty bellow from above, and at the window appeared the wobbling, purple mass of the Archdeacon of Bath, his expression enraged and his meat and two veg a-flapping in the wind.

"WHAT UNGODLY HORROR IS THIS?" he roared. (Do forgive me the use of capital letters. I understand the form is generally frowned upon, but lower case is inadequate to fully convey the Archdeacon's manner of delivery.) "WHICH ONE OF YOU MISERABLE LITTLE TROGLODYTES TOOK MY HAT? YOU'LL GET THE POKER FOR THIS!"

Thinking fast, I got to my feet and shoved the hat into Percy's hands.

"It's all his fault," I said, and ran.

* * *

There it was. Just as I had given up on trying, I had succeeded in getting rid of Percy. The Archdeacon had been so enraged at the attempted theft of his hat, and Percy so ineffectual in providing any defence, that he had been thrown into the town jail. He could have been released, of course, were his father willing to stump up for bail, but it seemed the elder Percy was as pleased to have him out of the way as I was.

So I was free, liberated from his presence and able at last to get on with the really important things in life – drinking, snogging, more drinking, and saving up to buy an intimidatingly large codpiece. It was a shame, then, that victory felt so hollow.

Up to that point, I had been convinced that without Percy holding me back, I would be one of the most wildly popular boys in college. The fact I had never been popular before had done nothing to prevent me getting this notion in my head, but going about Percyless proved illuminating. Even without a jabbering twit acting as my shadow, few people were willing to give me the time of day. At first I presumed it was because they feared he'd turn up at any moment, but even after I explained that he had been detained, they seemed distinctly cold to my many charms.

Girls still did not bat their eyelashes at me. Men still continued to avoid inviting me for a drink with 'the lads', whoever 'the lads' were. Small gobbets of rice pudding continued to be flicked at my head across the hall at dinnertime. My lofty ambitions of becoming a famed wit, dandy and lothario crumbled around me like a hat made of Wensleydale.

"What is it, Baldrick?" I said, reduced to pacing around my room again, while the noises of a party to which I hadn't been invited filtered up through the floorboards. I would probably go and barge in anyway once I was sure everyone was too drunk to recognise me, but it was the social oversight which wounded. "Why do they despise me?"

Baldrick looked over from where he had been cleaning the windows (or at least smearing the dirt into a new pattern).

"It's probably because you despise them, my lord," he said.

"I have a right to despise them!" I said, stamping my foot. "They're ignorant, dull, and they never invite me to anything."

Baldrick frowned. "Why would you want them to invite you to things if they're ignorant and dull?"

"That's not the point," I said. "It doesn't matter if I don't like them, I want to know why they don't like me. Gah!" I turned round again and raised my hand as I habitually did to cuff Percy around the head. He was usually just behind me and it usually made me feel better to smack him, whether he was the direct source of my irritation or not – but this time the back of my hand connected only with thin air, and I felt a sudden strange feeling of emptiness.

I sat down on the bed, head in hands. I had had an unpleasant realisation.

Over the past few months, I had become rather used to Percy. I still had Baldrick if I needed a convenient lackey-come-punchbag, but I had always had Baldrick, and it wasn't the same. Percy was a far more satisfying target, who seemed to almost thrive on my abuse, and, much as I hated to confess it even in the privacy of my own thoughts, was sometimes something bordering on good company. The place felt uncomfortably quiet without his endless wittering.

The strange, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach grew stronger.

"Baldrick, I have this strange, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach," I remarked. "You haven't contracted any new diseases you might have passed on to me, have you? I have warned you about coughing too vigorously in my presence."

"What kind of a strange empty feeling is it, sir?" he asked.

"A strange and empty one!" I snapped. "A sort of... poetic indigestion."

Baldrick looked at me, his expression one of what seemed to be moderate surprise. (Though it was hard to tell under the warts.)

"I think I know what it might be," he said. "Don't hit me if I tell you."

"Go on," I said, eyes narrowing.

"I think it might be guilt."

I went over and hit him anyway. It improved my mood slightly, but didn't take away the feeling. Guilt, he said. I must have been one of the first Blackadders in two hundred years to feel guilt. I was letting the side down.

I decided the best remedy would be to visit Percy. A reminder of what he was actually like would sort out that guilt problem in an instant. I put on my smuggest-looking cloak, and set out for the jail forthwith.

* * *

In my mind's eye, I had envisaged the jail – all jails, in fact – as a squalid dungeon littered with bones and infested with rats, and expected to see Percy in rags, chained to the wall. I was thus felt somewhat let down when I found no chains and barely any rats, just a bare room with a bench for Percy to sit upon. A bench! Prisons these days, I don't know, they're practically hotels.

I had bribed the warder to allow us a little time to talk in private, and thus walked down alone to see Percy. He was sat there looking like the last goose in the shop: pale, drooping and utterly pathetic. When he saw me, he did not, as I had expected, run to the bars squealing my name, but a certain light did appear in his eyes.

"Edmund," he said, nodding in greeting.

"Percy," I said, for once the more cheerful of us two. "Not your usual lively self today?"

"Well, no," Percy said, sounding sulky. "I am in prison, you know."

"How's it been?" I asked.

"Oh, you know. Cold room, hard bench, nothing to eat but gruel. Rather reminds me of school, actually," he said, starting to brighten. "Have you come to rescue me?"

"Nah, just felt like popping in for a quick gloat," I said. Percy's shoulders sunk again. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? No expressions of forgiveness, of how you understand that at this difficult time I can't afford it? You're usually so tolerant," I said. Percy sniffed loudly.

"Why should I be?" he said. "It's your bloody fault I'm in here."

I smiled. At last, he was beginning to get it.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't insist on following me around all the time," I said. "Why do you follow me around, anyway?"

"Because I like you!" Percy said, as if that was patently obvious. Which, I suppose, it was.

"But why?" I said. "I've never been remotely friendly towards you."

Percy shrugged.

"I don't know. I just... like you," he said. "You're... impressive."

Nobody had ever called me impressive before, unless commenting on my being impressively unpleasant. My sense of guilt grew stronger, and was accompanied by a distinct feeling of dread that I might have to commit another first for a Blackadder and issue an apology.

"I have to say, I've been thinking about you a lot over these past few days," I admitted. Percy began to perk up again.

I sighed, avoiding his gaze, embarrassed at being brought to this.

"I know we didn't get off on the right foot. I have abused you in every manner my mind could devise, and thoroughly enjoyed it, too. I have done everything in my power to get you out from under my feet. Yet, these few days when you've not been beside me, I've come to realise that -"

"Yes?" Percy said, getting to his feet, standing by the bars.

"-that while I have been nothing but cruel, you have been nothing but loyal. Bizarrely, bafflingly, deeply annoyingly loyal, but loyal nevertheless, and it's rare that anyone's dim enough to be loyal to a Blackadder. So -"

"Yes?" he said again, so close to the bars I was very tempted to poke him in the eye.

"Let me finish," I said, and he settled down a little. My mouth felt dry; contrition did not suit me at all.

"Anyway, I was going to say, that despite everything, I have come to see you as -"

"Oh, Edmund!"

"-a pet."

"Oh. Edmund."

He looked a bit put out by that. Couldn't blame him, but it'd been a massive effort for me to be as charitable as I'd just been. Anyway, it was true. The big wide eyes, the ceaseless grin, the way he bounded around by my ankles: he was a mentally subnormal spaniel inexplicably incarnated in the body of a gangling youth. I reached through the bars and patted him on the head, and though he pouted, I think he enjoyed it really.

"I've decided. I shall pay your bail, and then we can go and have a nice long walk, or something," I said.

"Ooh, can we?" Percy said, and just like that, was his old cheerful self again. Seeing the look on his face, I began to feel another emotion rare to the Blackadders: camaraderie.

I coughed up the cash, and we went to the park together. Percy had a high old time chasing the pigeons, and when it grew dark he trotted obediently after me all the way home. Which is, as you know, what he has continued to do ever since.

University was a long time ago, but Percy remains as much of a fixture as ever: as inevitable as taxes and athlete's foot, and about as pleasant, yet probably the closest thing to a friend I possess. People often ask me, why do I put up with this idiot following me wherever I go, and the answer I give is always the same. He might be an idiot, but he's _my_ idiot.


End file.
